Hyacinth & Emmet's Coffee Afternoons
by JoiForber
Summary: A One-Off. Elizabeth is out running errands and Hyacinth corners Emmet for "coffee in ten minutes". As they talk, Hyacinth reveals a secret side of herself. Sheridan would be appalled!
1. Chapter 1

Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced Bouquet) stood outside her front door, busily wiping the heart-shaped leaves of her evening primrose. She wore her usual boxy blue flowered housedress, yellow cleaning sponge in hand. She stood strategically positioned in the event her neighbor Elizabeth's divorcé brother, Emmet Hawksworth, should happen to pop out. Hyacinth would invite them over for coffee and then offer her services as a singer to Emmet in one of his upcoming amateur operatic society's presentations via belting out a show tune. Hyacinth tried to appear focused on the plant and picking invisible dead leaves from the vine, all the while, her eyes remained trained on Elizabeth's closed door.

Emmet peered out through the lace curtain covering the front door. Not seeing Hyacinth right away, he opened the door and slipped out. Hyacinth stepped from behind the cover of climbing vine and immediately burst into song, bellowing a show tune at twenty decibels and out of tune. Emmet slapped his hands over his ears but it was too late- she'd seen him! She waved excitedly.

"Emmet!" Hyacinth trilled, "Coffee in twelve minutes! Bring Elizabeth!"

Emmet's mouth gaped. Finally he found his voice, "Liz is not in, Hyacinth!" he stammered, "I'll have to miss your delicious coffee and a stroll through your photo albums. Oh, damn!" He feigned disappointment.

"Oh, that _is_ a shame," she lamented, "No sense in coffee going to waste. Join me in say, ten minutes. La-la-la-la!" She sang gaily, her head teetering side to side as she disappeared into her house leaving Emmet speechless.

"How does she do it? How does she do it?" he groused, pounding his fist against the brick pillar, "I'm getting as bad as Liz. Why can't I just say no?"

His shoulders slumped and he trudged over to Hyacinth's, defeated and resolved to be at her beckon call.

Emmet stood on Hyacinth's doorstep, stepping on the backs of his shoes to remove them. He took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell button. The electronic Westminster chime greeted him mockingly. Emmet rolled his eyes as he heard Hyacinth singing through the house, coming closer.

"Coming, Emmet!" she called.

_I could just run home_, he thought.

The door swung open and Hyacinth smiled broadly and broke into song.

Emmet stood firm, "I shall not join you for coffee if you're going to sing at me the whole time!"

Hyacinth's wide cross-bite smile faded slightly, "Very well. Come in, come in…_Emmet_." She'd have plenty of time to sing at him.

He followed her to the kitchen, leaving his brown suede loafers on her doorstep, feeling a little uncomfortable without Elizabeth.

"Sit anywhere," she invited.

Emmet took a seat next to the cupboard. Hyacinth didn't attempt to make him change seats like she usually did to Elizabeth.

"Where's Elizabeth gone to this early in the morning?" Hyacinth asked, walking to the table carrying a tray of her fine Royal Doulton bone china with the hand-painted periwinkles and a plate of biscuits.

"She's gone on an errand," he shrugged matter-of-factly.

"What sort of errand?" she pressed, intrigued.

"She didn't say," he deflected, "I was in the shower when she'd left."

"Hmm…" she mused, sitting down, "Biscuit?" She held the plate to Emmet and he took one. He wasn't nearly as jumpy as he was when he was with Elizabeth. He put his brave face on.

"Thank you," he smiled demurely and set the cookie on the paper napkin in front of him. He was surprised at how comfortable he felt being alone in Hyacinth's kitchen. Usually he was on tenterhooks and his stomach flip-flopped. He glanced around at her spotless kitchen. He eyes met hers and he quickly diverted them to the canisters on the shelf.

"Emmet?" she began, "Why do you avoid my gaze?"

He shifted slightly in his chair and smiled nervously. He was surprised the phone hadn't rung yet. It was usually her sister Violet with the Mercedes, sauna, and room for a pony. Or it was her sister Daisy to report that her barmy father had gone off again. The phone remained silent and Hyacinth remained in the kitchen, sitting down, eyes riveted on him.

_She's gearing up to sing at me. I know it! _he thought to himself.

She took a sip from her cup, eyeing him over the rim, "I think you're attracted to me, Emmet."

He nearly choked, "Psss-sha!" he scoffed.

"It's true, Emmet!" she countered, "I see how I affect you."

He stood and collected himself, "I've got to go, Hyacinth. Thanks for the coffee."

"Wait!" she blurted, jumping up and grabbing his arm, knocking over his cup, coffee washing over the table in a caramel-colored wave.

"I'm so sorry, Hyacinth!" he stammered and began mopping the mess with his napkin.

"Never mind that," she reassured him and walked over to the sink to retrieve a dish cloth. She wiped the table feverishly, determined to be the ideal hostess.

"Sit, please," she said, indicating his seat.

Obediently he sat down.

"More coffee?" she asked.

Not wanting to seem ungrateful, he reluctantly agreed, "Yes, please." Hyacinth went for the carafe and poured him another cup.

"Thank you, Hyacinth."

"Oh, you're very welcome, Emmet," she smiled.

He nursed his coffee, wondering when she was going to ask him for a part in his amateur operatic society's upcoming performance of _Me And My Girl. _She smiled wryly and cleared her throat.

_Here it comes_, he thought, bracing himself.

"Emmet, I have a proposal," she said finally.

_I knew it! _ he said to himself.

She chose her words carefully, "Emmet, you and I have been friends quite a while now," she began.

"I wouldn't exactly say _friends_, Hyacinth," he clarified, "More like acquaintances. _Casual_ acquaintances."

"Nonsense!" she waved her hand, "You've been to several of my candle-light suppers. That makes us friends."

_As if one has a choice, _he thought to himself, _It's almost like being conscripted!_

"Anyway," she said, resuming control of the conversation, "I would like to become _closer_ friends."

His breath caught in his throat, "What's that supposed to mean?" All of a sudden he got the distinct feeling she wasn't talking about an acting part in his play.

She moved in closer as if there were someone else in the room who might hear, "You may have noticed, I have a lot of free time on my hands."

He moved back a bit, "Yes," he said carefully.

"Well, I think you and I should spend more time together. Get to know each other better."

He felt his face flush hot. Was she chatting him up?

"What did you have in mind?" he squeaked, his throat tight and dry.

She scooted her chair right next to him so her knee was resting against his. His heart was pounding in his chest so loud he thought she might hear it. She smiled widely, her eyes dancing, as she moved even closer.

"I thought maybe you and I could get together for a little afternoon tête-à-tête once in a while. Just you and I. Nothing formal. As a matter of fact, very _in_formal!" she winked conspiratorially.

She _was_ chatting him up! He had to get out of there. _Now!_ But he felt as if he was glued to his seat and he could not extricate himself from the situation. He felt repulsed by the notion, yet he was interested in what she had to say. Usually he was not interested in anything having to do with Hyacinth Bucket, but for some reason, he wanted to hear her out.

"What about Richard?" he asked.

She put her hand on Emmet's forearm and smiled, "Richard never comes home during the day. He won't be home from the office until five. That gives us all afternoon."

Emmet's licked his suddenly-dry lips as Hyacinth's hand slid to his thigh. It had been quite some time since he'd had a serious relationship or an offer of sex. Hyacinth's sister Rose rode on his lap in the back of Onslow's car, awakening a long-dormant desire, but she never furthered the advance, leaving him quite dejected. He thought wistfully of Rose's bum grinding him on the way to Debenham's department store and he bit his lower lip.

"But, Hyacinth," he protested, "You're happily married. To Richard!"

"Oh, yes," she said as if remembering her husband, "We _are_ happy. But I must confess…"

"Hmm?" he arched an eyebrow.

"Richard is unable to keep up with my insatiable appetite," she confided.

Emmet burst out laughing, "_What? You?_"

"Oh, yes," she whispered, "He can't keep up with me. Never could. He knows I have a few lovers."

Emmet couldn't believe his ears. Hyacinth Bucket…a woman _philanderer_? When did she find the time? Who was she involved with? Emmet was intrigued. Maybe beneath the hats and under the cloak of the candle-light supper, Hyacinth was a wild woman.

"How long has this been going on?" he managed, his eyes intense.

"Oh, it's been going on since before he and I were married," she said quietly.

"He _knows_?" Emmet asked incredulously.

"Oh, yes," she said and waved with flair.

Emmet was afraid to ask, but did anyway, "Who?"

"A lady never divulges," she teased. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his cheek and he did not pull away. She moved her hand a little higher up his thigh and he gulped hard. He felt himself reacting to her and silently chastised himself.

"When?" he exhaled.

"Right now if you'd like," she flirted.

"I mean, when do you find the time?" he clarified.

"Oh, sometimes right after a candle-light supper. The first time was a few years ago. I was going upstairs to retrieve the Major's coat from our bedroom and he followed me. He cornered me and then he took me right there on top of the pile of coats on the bed!" Emmet's eyes went wild with shock and disbelief.

"Oh, yes. That snooty Mrs. Barker-Finch's mink coat was most luxurious for what we used it for!" she snickered haughtily.

Emmet mock-scolded her, wagging his finger, "Naughty, naughty!" he laughed. He liked this side of Hyacinth Bucket...oops! _Bouquet!_

She was proud of that encounter. A houseful of guests and a bit of naughty nookie right upstairs from them. Publicly she would put on airs that she was put off by Major Wilton Smythe's blatant and lustful flirtations, but secretly behind closed doors they were white-hot lovers. He might have had a hitch in his step from an old war injury, but his plumbing worked perfectly and he knew how to make Hyacinth come out of herself. Secretly she liked his ribald and tawdry comments and his hands all over her. As much as she tried to distance herself from her common-as-muck family, she was one of them. She envied Rose's devil-may-care attitude and freedom. Hyacinth had to keep this side of herself hidden. She was, after all, Keeping Up Appearances.

Emmet's mind wandered and he was a bit curious. Was Hyacinth serious or was she taking the mickey? He decided to play ball. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers. Hyacinth's arms flew around his neck and she began passionately kissing him in return. Her tongue curled around his and he ran his fingers through her hair. Emmet could not remember the last the last time he had been kissed like that and his hands went to Hyacinth's waist. She let out a little moan as he tugged at the hem of her blue and green flowered dress.

"Not here," she panted, "Not in front of my Royal Doulton with the hand-painted periwinkles!"

He laughed to himself.

"OK, then, where?" he asked.

"Upstairs of course!" she trilled breathlessly.

"Of course," he nodded slowly, "In your bedroom?"

"Oh, yes!" she said as if stating the obvious, "I tried taking a lover in Sheridan's old room, but I couldn't help thinking he would be appalled if he knew his Mummy was entertaining other men in his bed. It ruined the mood."

"What about Richard? Wouldn't _he_ be appalled?" Emmet couldn't believe he was actually entertaining the idea.

"No."

_What the hell?_ he thought, _Poor sod has no idea._

Hyacinth took Emmet's hand and led him upstairs. The stairs creaked as they trod.

_Last chance to back out, _the voice in Emmet's head warned. He continued.

Hyacinth's bedroom was impeccably clean. The comforter on the bed matched the wallpaper and the carpeting- it was all incredibly pink. Emmet looked around guiltily as Hyacinth's fingertips grazed his neck. He smiled uneasily. His eyes stole around the room and he settled on her vanity. Bottles of lotions, perfume, hairpins, and makeup. Powders, potions, a comb, a brush, a hairnet, a large oval mirror. The Hyacinth Bucket Command Center! He imagined many a candle-light supper being planned out at this very spot. He chuckled to himself.

"It's OK, Emmet. Richard knows about my lovers," she reassured him.

"Does he know you bring them here?" he asked nervously, "Is he going to find out and then come and kill me?"

"He won't find out. But if he does, he will be fine with it. We have a strong marriage. Stop worrying!" She placed her hands on his chest and leaned in again. This time Emmet took her face in both hands, caressed her lips with his thumbs, and kissed her deeply, pressing himself against her. If Richard was alright with his wife having it off with other men, who was he to question it? He figured he'd better get on with it before she changed her mind or laughed and said it was all a joke. Truth be told, he hadn't been laid in so long that even a proposal from Hyacinth Bucket was better than he'd had in the two years he'd lived with Elizabeth. Several blind dates left him empty-handed. Well, all he was left with was his hand. Maybe Hyacinth could hook him up with her sister Rose. Maybe he could talk them into a threesome. He smiled mischievously at the thought.

"That's better," Hyacinth crooned, thinking he was smiling at the prospect of bedding her. She began to loosen his brown tie and unbutton his light tan Oxford shirt. He stood there allowing her to slowly undress him. He licked his lips as she slid his vest up and gently scratched his belly. He arched an eyebrow and gathered her skirt up, slipping the whole dress over her head, and tossing it onto a nearby chair. Hyacinth stood in her stocking feet and slip and extra-supportive brassiere. Emmet surveyed the scene. She was round-bodied, abdomen streaked with stretch marks, hair perfectly coiffed, and vulnerable. He could not get over the idea of her being a sex pot, demanding more than Richard could oblige. Poor man. Well, here was Emmet to take up the slack. The understudy.

Hyacinth's arm snaked around him. Emmet buried his face in the crook of her neck. She did smell nice and he kissed her tenderly.

_This might not be so bad_, he rationalized, _As long as she doesn't sing during it! I shall go mad if she starts singing during it._

"Ever since that day I first saw you retrieve the milk draped in a towel, it's all I could think about. Every time after that that I saw you, my mind was transported back to that morning I saw you on Elizabeth's doorstep draped in a towel. I knew I wanted to find out what was under that towel. I knew I wanted you. That's why I was always trying to get your attention, trying to get you to give me a part in one of your plays or operatic presentations," she gushed like a school girl.

He was flummoxed, "So you didn't want to sing or act in a performance?"

"That wasn't entirely out of the question. But honestly, I wanted to be near you, Emmet," she confessed, tracing a finger along his belly and waistband of his trousers.

_Oh, what the hell? _his brain rationalized_ It's just sex, after all, isn't it?  
_

He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. The whole lot fell to the floor and he stood there in his boxers, hard and ready. Hyacinth's eyes were drawn to his boxers and she surmised he was adequate.

"Oh, _yes!"_ she exclaimed with the same enthusiasm she had when she stood in the jeweler's surveying the gold cufflinks for Onslow's birthday, "That will do nicely!" She stepped out of her slip and unhooked her stockings from her suspender belt, letting them fall to the floor. Emmet reached for the waistband of her knickers and suspender belt and peeled them down.

"Last chance to back out," he offered, glancing down at her navel and below. The carpet did indeed match the drapes; she was a true auburn!

"Do _you_ want to back out, Emmet? I shall be disappointed!" she pouted, "I hope you didn't come up here with me just to disappoint me."

"No, I'm fine," he said, trying to reassure himself. She turned away from him to pull down the bedclothes. He eyed her bum- big and round and creamy white- and tugged at his own underwear. He moved right up behind her, his hardness slipping between her legs and she jumped, startled. He pulled her back against him, pressing urgently.

"It's alright," he purred.

"Mmmm," she moaned softly.

He kissed her shoulders and reached up to unhook her brassiere, unfettering her large breasts. His hands hefted them gently, thumbs rubbing her pencil eraser-hard nipples. She turned in his embrace and he kissed her waiting mouth, easing her onto her back.

_What are you doing?_ the voice in Emmet's head screamed. He suppressed that inner voice as soon as he was inside. His breath hitched and he let out a little yelp, pushing all the way in. His body shuddered in sheer delight; he was surprised how wonderful this was. Who knew the staunch, snobby, uptight neighbor could be such a great lay? Maybe it was because he hadn't had any in such a long time. Best not to over-analyze these things. She was warm and wet and willing.

Hyacinth gasped as he entered her, a bit awkward and clumsy at first; her eyes went wide with desire. She dug her nails into Emmet's back and pressed her face to his chest. All of those times singing at him and smiling at him had finally paid off.

Her eyes scanned the ceiling, _The ceiling could do with a fresh coat of emulsion_ she thought.

He finally found his guttural fortitude, buried his face in the pillow, and began to work himself in and out. Hyacinth full thighs cushioned him as he rode her comfortably. She moaned softly.

"Oh, oh," he grunted. He was gentle, resisting the urge to take his revenge in this manner. He thought of all those times being forced to endure coffee at fourteen past nine, endless piles of photo albums, tea and light refreshments, indoor-outdoor barbeques with finger buffets. He refrained, instead choosing to enjoy the macabre irony of it. Besides, if he enjoyed it well enough, this could prove to be a nice distraction from his mundane life. It could also prove to be a source of endless blackmail possibilities. He grinned at the thought and put a little more effort into his performance. A true actor.

Her hands cupped his skinny bum as he got his rhythm going, the bed creaking and groaning with each stroke. His thighs quivered and he dug his toes into the mattress. Hyacinth's huge, globe-like breasts jiggled as he rocked her, her nipples scraping against his pale chest, driving him mad. A bead of sweat ran down Emmet's nose and hung from the tip. He shook his head sharply, sending the droplet flying. Hyacinth hadn't noticed. Emmet wondered if she was going to criticize every aspect of their coupling. He hoped not.

Her thighs tightened around him and she began to whimper, only in the most discreet fashion, of course. She felt dizzy and warm and she glistened as she felt her climax building within her. Driven wild by her restraint, Emmet began pounding her fiercely. Hyacinth threw her head back, biting her lower lip, her face contorted and red.

"Oh, let it out, Hyacinth!" he commanded, "No one expects decorum in the bedroom!"

She shook her head violently in protest; her eyes pressed tightly together and she breathed erratically through her nose. Emmet was relentless in his quest to make her scream. He long-stroked and short-stroked. Fast and slow, he teased until she could stand it no longer. Her whole body quaked and she held fast as he continued. She arched her back and her mouth gaped wordlessly. She let out a thunderous cry from deep within, her head thrashed back and forth. Finally, she began to nod quickly.

"Yes! Yes! Oh, that's it! Yes!" she yowled, wrapping her legs tightly around him, her heart drumming wildly.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, "Well done! See, wasn't that better than bottling it up?"

She nodded again, panting. He continued for a few more strokes and then slammed his face into the pillow, thrusting in and out forcefully.

"Oh, feck!" he hollered, his hair sweat-drenched and matted to his head, his heart pounding in his chest. His breath came in wide, open-mouthed gasps. Oh, God! How long had it been since his last encounter with a woman?

He collapsed on top of her, spent. She rested her hands on his shoulders. He smelled musky and Hyacinth tried not to be disgusted by this sweating, panting, musky-smelling man in her bed. But she wanted him out, but how to tactfully remove a lover from one's sheets?

"Emmet, you have to get out!" she said firmly.

"Now? I've not even caught my breath!" he chuckled, "What's the hurry? You said Richard's not due back until five. It's only three now."

She made a face, "Yes, _now_! You're getting my Laura Ashley sheets all sweaty and man-smelling."

He had to laugh. Always trying to maintain a sense of dignity and control. He ignored her request and slipped his tongue between her parted lips, taking advantage of her labored breathing. She could not resist his kisses and reciprocated. She regained her composure and pushed him off of her.

He rolled onto his back, "_Oof!_ Hyacinth! What's gotten into you?"

"Emmet you have to get out of this bed right now!" she insisted, panic creeping into her voice.

"What's the rush? You're not regretting this, are you?" he asked, "I rather enjoyed it myself." He smiled like the cat that swallowed the canary. The Great Hyacinth Bucket…

"I-I-I-I need to change the sheets before Richard comes home," she stuttered, her face going into paroxysms.

"I thought you said he was fine with this," Emmet said agitatedly, pulling his trousers on.

"He is. He is," she said reassuringly, "I just like to keep it on the down-low. He works all day and when he comes to bed at night, he has a right to his bed not smelling of another man. Don't be cross with me, Emmet. I shall not bear it if you're cross with me."

"I see. I'm not cross, Hyacinth. Perhaps next time we should go to a hotel," Emmet suggested, slipping his vest over his head and tucking it into the waistband of his trousers. He pulled his shirt on and buttoned it up as Hyacinth gathered the sheets and stuffed them into the hamper in the adjoining bathroom. He tucked his shirt in neatly.

Emmet chuckled at the spectacle of Hyacinth running around naked and cleaning up the evidence of their tryst. Her hair was still impeccably coiffed. How does she do that? He smiled again, seeing her in a new light.

He hurriedly dressed and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. She held a can of air freshener over her head and sprayed, waving her arm around vigorously. The aroma of gardenia filled the room, giving Emmet a headache.

"Sit _down_!" he ordered her.

She joined him and he slipped his arm around her. He curled a finger under her chin and lifted her mouth to his, kissing her deeply.

"No regrets?" he whispered.

"No," she sighed, shaking her head. She'd done this many times. She could get things straightened out in ten minutes.

"Alright. I'll let myself out so you can compose yourself and put the room back together. I had a lovely afternoon, Hyacinth. Thank you for the coffee." He stood and checked the room to ensure he wasn't leaving anything like his wallet or a stray handkerchief. Once he'd secured his personal belongings, he kissed her once again and left, exiting through the kitchen door and leaving through the back garden.

Elizabeth was already home from her errand-running and appointment in town. She sat in the lounge mending a doily when Emmet strode in.

"And where've you been?" she said, looking up from her needlework.

"Next door, having coffee with Hyacinth," he said, trying to suppress his cheese-eating smile. His hair was unkempt and he was shoeless, having left them on Hyacinth's doorstep.

"All this time?" she said looking at the mantle clock. Three-thirty.

"Well, coffee and a bit of crumpet!" he winked and his mouth split into a crooked, revealing smile.

"_Emmet!"_


	2. Chapter 2

**An Inconvenient Truth**

Elizabeth sat gawping speechlessly at her brother. He wore a proud, yet embarrassed, grin on his face. He shrugged sheepishly.

"Emmet, how could you?" she could barely blurt out, "She's a married woman!"

"Liz, I swear to you, I never intended for it to happen." He plonked down in the chair across from her and reached for the decanter of brandy. He poured himself a large tumbler of liquor and gulped it down quickly. He exhaled loudly.

"Then how did it?" she scrutinized him up and down, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He tipped the bottle and sloshed more of the brown liquid into his glass. He took a big mouthful and swallowed hard.

"I don't know exactly," he tried to explain, "She invited you and me for coffee and I tried to explain that you weren't home. But you know Hyacinth, she never listens." His voice was strained.

Elizabeth nodded in agreement, her eyebrows raised, nervously smiling.

"Well, anyway, Liz, I was trapped into going for coffee. I just _knew_ she'd sing at me and ask to be in the upcoming performance of 'Me and My Girl'. But she didn't do either one."

"No?" Elizabeth tilted her head, "That's unlike Hyacinth."

"I know," he said, "It was uncanny and caught me off-guard."

Emmet sat with his hands folded in his lap to keep them from trembling.

"We were just talking and then she told me that she has this unquenchable sexual appetite that Richard couldn't keep up with and that Richard knows about her affairs." The words came flooding out.

Elizabeth's face blanched and her mouth dropped open, "Oh, my!"

He took a deep breath, "Well, the next thing I knew, she was leading me upstairs to her bedroom."

"You could have left," Elizabeth stated firmly.

"The truth is, Liz, I didn't _want_ to!" he admitted, a pained look on his face, "I wanted to be there with her. Call it morbid curiosity or desperation, but I wanted it. I could have left when she first proposed it and I _did_ consider leaving, but it was like all of a sudden I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame."

"How many of those did you have over there?" she asked motioning to the drink in his hand.

He took a long draw, "Shockingly, Liz, I was stone-cold sober!"

Elizabeth didn't know what to say. He could tell what she was thinking. As siblings they had an almost psychic bond. He could see it in her face; she wanted to ask him but she dared not. She was afraid of the answer. Emmet sensed her discomfiture.

"Yes, Liz. I did enjoy it. It was incredible," he said softly and drained his glass, "I haven't been with a woman since Jeanne."

Elizabeth's face turned bright red and she looked away from him for a moment.

"You're ashamed of me!" he whinged, pouring himself another brandy.

"No. I know she can be very imposing and forceful. She's had her eye on you for quite some time. I see how she looks at you; she's smitten," Elizabeth smiled, understanding, commiserating. She set her needlework down on the side table.

"I can just do with of those myself, baby brother!" she said indicating the half-full crystal bottle.

Emmet took a glass from the cart and shakily poured Elizabeth a drink. He held the glass to his sister, his hand quivering. She took the drink from him, and compassionately brushed his hand with hers.

"What's really wrong, Emmet? Remorse?" she said and sipped the liquor.

"No. I feel really bad for poor old Richard. He's at work and he thinks she's at home cleaning and polishing or out doing charity work…" he trailed off.

Elizabeth stood and walked over to her brother. She tousled his hair playfully and leaned over to give him a reassuring hug, "Don't worry about 'poor old Richard'. He's crazy like a fox! He knows exactly what she's about," Elizabeth said, indicating she knew more than she was letting on.

The mantle clock ticked on and on as the sun beams got longer in Elizabeth's cozy front lounge. Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at her brother conspiratorially. His expression went suddenly serious.

"Liz, you know something, don't you?" he queried, eyeing her suspiciously, "Tell!" His eyes were dark and intense and he pressed his lips together.

"I'm sworn to secrecy," she said teasingly.

"Blood is thicker than water!" he reminded her, "We've known each other since birth!"

"OK. Promise you will never tell a living soul?" she took a sip of her drink and set it down next to her project.

"You want me to spit-shake and pinky-swear?" he chortled.

"No, Emmet, I mean it!" Elizabeth warned.

He held up his right hand, "Scout's honor."

Elizabeth cleared her throat and took a deep breath, "OK. Sheridan is not Richard's son."

"That's _it_? That's the big secret?" Emmet looked disappointed, "I swore on that? Does Richard know?"

"Of course he knows," she said as if stating the obvious.

"Does Sheridan know?" Emmet asked, confused as to why this was such a secret.

"Yes, he knows as well. Why do you think he never comes round? And when he calls he will only speak to Hyacinth on the phone?" she took a small sip of her drink.

"So why the secrecy if everyone knows?" His brow furrowed.

"It's the conditions which led to his conception and their marriage," Elizabeth revealed, "I really shouldn't be telling you this."

"Well, you opened the can of worms, so fish or cut bait, Sis! Finish the story," he urged, swirling the brown liquid in his glass.

She ran her fingers through her hair, "Where to begin?"

"At the beginning is usually a good place to start…" he smiled.

"Well, Hyacinth's father had served in the war. He had come home and got married to Hyacinth's mum. They started having children right about at the end of the war. Hyacinth's father was never what you might call, skilled or motivated. Her mother was the one who went out to work doing odd jobs- cleaning, mending, that sort of thing."

"MMm-hmm," Emmet nodded, "And? Go on."

"Well, her mother died unexpectedly around 1950-something. The girls all had to go to work to support themselves and their lay-about father," she explained.

"Violet married Bruce in 1962 or somewhere about that time. Daisy got involved with Onslow and they _had_ to get married."

"I could see that," Emmet pursed his lips and nodded knowingly.

"Well, you know Rose. Two or three failed marriages and she wound up with Daisy and Onslow with their father tagging along." Emmet smiled wryly as he thought about Rose.

"Which brings us to Hyacinth," he said, expectantly.

Elizabeth faltered, unsure if she should divulge this information.

"Come on, Liz. You can't stop now!" he said impatiently, "I'm on the edge of my seat!" he said playfully.

"You behave or I'll not tell you!" she scolded.

"I'll be good," he promised and held his three-finger Scout-swear hand up again.

"Hyacinth was about nineteen when she became involved with a wealthy local government official and saw him as her ticket out of a boring life of drudgery and menial work. She had designs of trapping him and elevating her social and economic status by becoming pregnant," Elizabeth said plainly.

"Sheridan?" Emmet's mouth gaped.

"Yes. The only trouble was that this wealthy local government official was already married," she sighed.

"Oops!" he made a face.

"Yes. He left out that little detail when he was wining and dining her. Imagine the scandal and embarrassment, not to mention the risk to his career. He wanted to make it all go away nice and conveniently," she arched her eyebrows and nodded for emphasis.

"What did he do?" Emmet leaned in so as not to miss one juicy detail.

"There was a young, up and coming clerk in the mail room of the firm. The executive made him a very generous offer if he would help with his little _problem,_" Elizabeth made quote marks in the air as she said it.

"Richard! What was the offer?" Emmet pressed.

"He was offered a higher-ranking position in the firm if he married her. He was promised job security and a handsome salary if he kept his mouth shut and if he swore never to tell anyone of his child's parentage and to make sure the affair was never mentioned."

"Wow. Poor Richard." Emmet shook his head slowly.

"So he has been carrying the burden of the truth since 1967 or so. To the outside world, they look like any other mismatched couple. She's carried on as if she'd married the wealthy man."

"That doesn't explain her insatiable urges, though," he mused.

"No, that _is_ a surprise. She always seems so uptight and staunch. I rarely see her show Richard any affection," Elizabeth lamented.

"Poor man should be sainted! So, when did they tell Sheridan?" Emmet asked.

"Well," Elizabeth began, "_They_ didn't actually tell him. You know how her father is barmy? He blurted it out one day when he had not taken his medication and had gotten out and Hyacinth was over at Daisy's reprimanding them for being careless."

"Oh, shit! Her daddy just threw that out there?" Emmet poured himself another brandy and took a sip.

"Yes, he just threw it out there! Hyacinth, Richard and Sheridan- oh, he couldn't have been more than twelve or fourteen at the time- they were in Daisy's front lounge and her father yelled 'Careless? Irresponsible? You're the _last_ one to be talking about careless! Whose son is _he_? 'Cuz he sure as hell isn't Richard's, I can tell you that!' Oh, it was terrible. Afterward, Sheridan went to live with Violet and Bruce for a long time. Two, maybe three years, I think."

"_That_ explains a lot," Emmet said thoughtfully.

"Well, he became accustomed to a Mercedes, sauna, and room for a pony. Not to mention vacations at their villa in Ibiza. Hyacinth overindulges him, but Violet and Bruce spoiled him rotten!"

Elizabeth's face fell. Her heart still ached for her friend and the severed relationship her son and husband had. Richard tried his best to be a good father to Sheridan, but Hyacinth always overindulged him. She inadvertently shut Richard out of their relationship from early on. Maybe it was her way of compensating for the abandonment she felt by the father of her child. Maybe she felt Sheridan was from upper-crust society and should be kept in a manner commensurate with what she believed to be his station in life; Hyacinth sure knew how to spend Richard's her reasoning for splurging on Sheridan, Hyacinth did so whenever the mood took her, and her marriage- and Richard- suffered.

Emmet sighed heavily and pursed his lips, deep in thought. His eyes betrayed him.

"What're you thinking?" Elizabeth asked, sensing her brother's melancholy.

"Oh, Liz. What have I done?" his voice heavy with drink, "I don't want to add to her troubles."

"What have you done, brother dear? You had a dirty afternoon next door fulfilling a woman's deepest fantasy," she soothed, "And you will go over whenever she calls on you; she's besotted with you. Your secret's safe with me."

She smiled, consoling him, "You'll do well to keep this to yourself, Emmet."

"You can count on it," he said with an air of finality, "Thanks, Liz."


	3. Chapter 3

Emmet plowed forward, hair plastered to his head in sweaty strands, heart thrumming wildly, hands grasping Hyacinth's shoulders from underneath. Hyacinth's mouth formed an _o, _her fingers dug into Emmet's back, her large, full breasts rolled lazily to her sides. She constricted around him, driving him wild.

Then all at once and without warning they exploded simultaneously, taking both of them by surprise. Emmet's eyes went wide in delight; Hyacinth squeezed hers shut.

"Splendid!" he exclaimed, burying his face in her bosom and kissing her damp chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, embarrassed.

"No need to apologize! We came off at the same time," he exhaled sharply. He hadn't had that happen in a long time; he could count on one hand how many of those he had experienced with Jeanne.

Emmet fell back on the pillows, sweating, gasping for breath. He rolled onto his side, looking at Hyacinth one-eyed, smiling dreamily.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Emmet?" she questioned, feeling somewhat self-conscious.

"This is the way a man looks at a woman after they've made love," he said smiling, his eyes half-closed.

"Is it appropriate for a man to look at a woman like that?" she pulled back.

He gathered her into his arms and slowly kissed her neck, shoulder and décolletage, breathing her in deeply, "Yes, it is appropriate for a man to look at a woman like this, especially after making love."

She lay stiffly, "Richard never looks at me like that. Especially after making love," she added quietly.

"I'm not Richard," he sighed, all too aware that he was violating Richard's trust and friendship. A pang of guilt hit him in the stomach, and then subsided. He was becoming comfortable with this situation.

"The Major never looks at me like that," she added.

"The Major is a lout and a clod," Emmet sniped. He despised the Major.

"Emmet!" Hyacinth scolded, "Don't be rude. I find envy to be a very lower-class emotion." She rolled her eyes.

Emmet chuckled to himself and continued his ministrations. Hyacinth looked round the room nervously.

"Emmet, we've got to get up. Now!" she said impatiently.

He traced a finger along her shoulder and collarbone, "What's the rush?"

"I've got to change the sheets and get things straightened up," she tried to wrangle out of his embrace, but he held fast.

"Hyacinth, you said it yourself that you could get this room ship-shape in ten minutes. Calm down," he said and pressed a warm open-mouthed kiss in the crook of her neck, sending a delightful shiver down her back. He was a gentle lover, not at all like the short-fused Major or the gruff and dirty Commodore. She was not used to lying in another's arms and cuddling. She wasn't sure how she felt about this level of intimacy.

"Emmet," she stammered, "I-I-I-I-I'm not sure how I feel about this," she tried to extricate herself from his arms, but he was too strong.

"You were pretty sure a few minutes ago," he reminded her and smiled, arching an eyebrow.

"I really need to get to work," she said, her blue eyes pleading.

"Hyacinth, stop it! Stop. Just calm down," he said firmly, his dark eyes narrowed, "Richard won't be home for another three hours. I don't want to just do it and be kicked out afterwards."

"I can get the room fixed up and go downstairs and put on some coffee," she smiled nervously.

Emmet ignored her comment. He pulled her back into his embrace, "Now…where were we?"

She wriggled uncomfortably, "I was going to tidy up the room."

"No. You are not," he said resolutely. He could see she was not used to languishing in the afterglow. He would have to work on that _slowly._

He slowly ran his hand up and down her thigh and over her hips, reveling in the smoothness of her skin. Although no longer taut and nubile, her body was very much feminine and alluring. He buried his face in her bosom as her hands cradled his head. He kissed her passionately as he pressed urgently against her belly.

"What?" she looked at him incredulously, "Again?"

"I'm afraid so," he said sheepishly. His eyes were dark and intense. He rolled her under him.

Round two and Hyacinth was really antsy to get cleaned up and put the room to right. Emmet shook his head and sighed. Hyacinth leapt out of bed and began to gather the comforter and sheets. She shook the pillows from their cases and added them to the pile. Emmet snatched up his clothing and began dressing. He felt like a teenager, but not in a carefree sort of way. No, he felt like a teenager who was afraid of getting caught at his girlfriend's house after curfew.

"I'm leaving, Hyacinth," Emmet announced.

"Yes, dear," she said matter-of-factly, pulling fresh sheets onto the bare mattress.

He watched as she bustled around the room, dressed only in a pair of panties. He marveled at how her bum looked like two footballs wrestling inside a duffel bag. He paused and stared a moment, smiling.

"Do you need help?" he offered.

"Oh, _no_!" she scoffed, "I can manage! That's what sets me apart from other women is my ability to keep an impeccable home."

He shook his head, laughing to himself, and quickly dressed. He gave her a quick peck on the mouth and headed downstairs and out the kitchen door.

* * *

Richard entered the bedroom to hang his suit jacket and change into his house shoes and a cardigan. He noticed the comforter, sheets and pillow shams were different from the ones that had been on the bed when he had left for work earlier in the day. His mouth formed a straight line and he clenched his fists exasperatedly.

"Damn!" he closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. He knew what his wife was about, but every time he was faced with the evidence of her dalliances, it pained him. He pretended to be all right with this arrangement; he'd had over twenty-five years to grow a thick skin and be accustomed to her _activities_, but she was his wife. He was also concerned about whether or not she and her paramours were using protection. He wasn't worried about pregnancy, she was well past childbearing years. He was more bothered by the possibility of STDs. He would discuss it with her after dinner. Over tea.

xXx

"Hyacinth, there's something I wish to discuss with you which I feel is rather important," Richard said, his jaw set.

She stirred her tea, oblivious to him.

"Hyacinth!" he snapped, "I _need_ to discuss something with you!"

"Oh, that's nice, dear," she said faintly.

"Hyacinth, are you ever listening?" he steamed.

"Yes, dear. What is it?" she stirred her tea and took a sip.

He chose his words carefully, "I see you've been entertaining one of your _gentleman friends_ again..." He reached for a biscuit and set it on the edge of his saucer.

She gave him a look, her face twisting and contorting. She didn't like it when he referred to one of her lovers as her 'gentleman friend'. That was what Hyacinth referred to Rose's illicit sexual encounters as. Hyacinth considered her own lovers to be of the highest socio-economic calibre, of the highest breeding, practically aristocracy.

"Richard!" she winced, "Please refrain from labeling my paramours in that demeaning term. It sounds so lower-middle class. Me sister Rose has 'gentleman friends'. I do not have gentlemen friends."

"Then what would you have me call them?" he cringed at the plurality of the term.

"Oh, I don't know," she smiled and hugged herself, "I'd like to think of them as 'companions' or 'therapists'. Lots of people have therapists nowadays. It's very en vogue." She swept her hand in the air nonchalantly.

He laughed at the absurdity of it, "All right. I see you've had a _therapy session_ today."

"...it was lovely," she reminisced.

"I don't want to hear about it," he said looking round the kitchen. He tried to contain his emotions.

"I think we're making progress; I feel as though I'm getting better, on the verge of a breakthrough..."

"_Hyacinth! _I don't want to hear about it!" he exploded, apoplectic, his voice climbing several octaves, and his face flushing crimson.

"I'm worried about you having sex with strange men and not using protection!" His face was beet red and his eyes bugged. Hyacinth had never seen him so agitated before. It frightened her and she sat gaping, her cup of tea in mid-sip. She was speechless for a second and then regrouped, regaining her composure.

She smiled widely, nodding, "Of course, dear! But you needn't worry. That alarm system you had installed for our anniversary will alert me to the slightest intrusion. If our home is breached or penetrated, the constable shall be along post-haste!"

Richard clenched his fists, shaking with anger, "I can't believe it! How does she manage to not listen; I never could!" He noisily gulped a mouthful of tea.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust, "Oh, Richard! I do hope you're not going to start making sewer noises at the table! If there's one thing I cannot endure, it's sewer noises at tea."

"Here!" he said, handing her a small brown paper sack, "I picked up some prophylactics for you."

She dumped the bag, emptying the contents onto the table; a small box fell out.

"They have the Royal Warrant on the box," he said, "I know how important having items By Appointment is to you."

She cupped his face in her hands and lightly kissed his lips, "Oh, Richard, you _do_ care about me!"

She scrutinized the box, "Colours!" she squealed.

He smiled tightly, "I thought you might like some variety."

"I bet those Barker-Finches never had colour-coordinated French letters with the Royal Warrant on the package!"

The phone rang, jolting Hyacinth and Richard from their quiet tea time. Hyacinth sprang out of her seat and rushed to answer it. It might be someone important!

"The Bouquet residence, lady of the house speaking!" she trilled.

"Sherrrrridaaaaan!" she greeted happily, "So kind of you to ring your Mummy!" She twirled the phone cord round her fingers.

Richard popped his head into the foyer, "No more money this month!" he mouthed.

She frowned, "What makes you think he wants money?" she said, covering the receiver with her hand.

"That's all he ever calls for!" Richard murmured through gritted teeth.

"You'll never guess what your father has bought me!" she bubbled, still holding the package.

Richard rolled his eyes and returned to the kitchen.

"He bought me a box of coloured balloons with the Royal Warrant on the packaging!" she smiled.

"What's that, dear?" she said to her son, "You and Tarquin also have the Royal Warrant on your package? We have a special bond, you and I. It's almost psychic! But you don't call them balloons? Then what do you call them, dear?"

Pause.

"Raincoats. I see. What do you and Tarquin use raincoats for?"

Pause.

"It's private? Sheridan, you and I have no secrets! Please tell me that you and Tarquin aren't getting mixed up with any loose and immoral girls while away at university? Hmm?"

Another pause.

"Well, that's good, dear. That's Mummy's little man! One must stay focused on his studies!"

She dusted a tchotchke on the shelf above her white slim-line telephone, "You need how much, dear?"

Richard cringed, "He's not getting any more money this month!" he yelled through clenched teeth from the kitchen.

"What do you need eighty pounds for?" she asked.

Pause.

"Oh, I see. Yes, it would be impossible for you an Tarquin to take a walking tour of Greece without any money."

Richard groaned loudly as she hung up.


	4. Chapter 4

**All Good Things Come To An End**

Emmet had begun to look forward to his afternoons with Hyacinth. As overbearing and aggravating as she was in public, he found her enchanting when they were alone. Even when she bragged on endlessly about Violet with her Mercedes and villa in Ibiza or Sheridan's rebuilding of Romania with his friend Tarquin or Richard's highly important position at the firm, he realized she must be incredibly lonely.

He decided that if she was going to insist on singing at him the least he could do was help her. So some afternoons they would have coffee and retire to the lounge where he would sit poised at the spinet and take her painstakingly through her scales. She was never going to be a virtuoso, but at least her off-key serenade wasn't fraying his nerves or causing the dogs in the neighborhood to bark. She also discovered, sitting on his knee, the other use pianists had for their long, nimble fingers. It was then that she hit her highest, most beautiful, crescendos.

Some afternoons were simply coffee and piano; Hyacinth seemed to thrive during those afternoons with Emmet at the keyboard. She basked in the attention and his compliments of how well she was improving. Anything was an improvement compared to her usual off-key warbling.

In order to not attract attention to themselves, Hyacinth would leave her home on a charity volunteer obligation and then after about an hour she would rush out for an unexpected "emergency", much to the relief of the other volunteers.

She made advanced arrangements with Emmet, who would post watch at the door awaiting her arrival home or she would just ring him on the phone to come over for coffee if she didn't see him standing there. They never conducted their trysts at Elizabeth's home, which was also Emmet's home in actuality, as Hyacinth felt it was so lower middle class for a lady to go to a man's home. The prospect of a hotel was also out of the question, lest she be spotted by Mrs. Councilor Nugent, or Mrs. Thorgunby, or Mrs. Fortescue, or any of Richard's colleagues, going to or coming from a hotel- even a 5-star stately bed and breakfast- with a man not her husband. No, Hyacinth's house was the perfect place for them to engage in a leisurely afternoon of fornication. So it went, once a week, Hyacinth would carve out a quiet afternoon of coffee and passion in addition to once a week of flower arranging and passion at Major Wilton Smythe's conservatory. It chafed Emmet to have to share her with the Major, but he didn't grouse. He had no rights of exclusivity. If anyone should have a right to whinge, it would be Richard.

And so it happened on one rainy afternoon. Emmet and Hyacinth were basking in the aftermath of a particularly vigorous session of lovemaking. Exhausted and dreamy, they lay, legs entangled, softly kissing and cuddling. A car door closed outside and they both jumped.

Richard walked across the tarmac and spotted Emmet's brown suede shoes on the doorstep. He hesitated, looking down at the shoes, and shook his head. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside, pausing to listen for a moment, and then slammed the door.

"Shit!" Emmet exclaimed, whispering, disentangling himself and looking at his watch panicked, "It's Richard! He's not supposed to be home for four more hours! What do we do?"

"Shh-shh," Hyacinth put her finger to Emmet's lips, "Leave it to me." She pulled the covers over their heads.

Emmet's eyes were wild as a trapped rabbit's; his breath became erratic, "_That's_ your plan?" He was frantic. He just knew Richard was going to bludgeon them with a fireplace poker or a something heavy and solid.

She placed her hand on his chest reassuringly, "Shh-shh." His heart was beating wildly under her hand; she gently stroked his chest and smiled.

Richard stomped up the steps, more to warn them of his arrival than anger. He faltered at the bedroom door in order to give them the chance to conceal themselves; he did not want a repeat of the time he walked in on Hyacinth and the Major in the lounge.

"I do hope he hasn't tracked up my wood block," she murmured,"I've just had it polished!"

Emmet gaped in disbelief.

"Hyacinth, what if he comes in?" Emmet whispered wordlessly.

She was calm and collected. How did she do it? The floorboard outside the bedroom creaked and Emmet's heart was in his mouth. Richard was so close. The doorknob screeched slightly as Richard turned it and the door swung open. Richard glanced over at the mound of covers and concealed bodies as he strode past. There came a rustling noise as Richard shuffled through a stack of papers on his dresser and then stuffed them into his attaché case; he opened and closed drawers noisily, a clinking sound as Richard moved things around on Hyacinth's vanity.

"Hello, Emmet," Richard acknowledged his friend. Emmet's blood froze. A sick feeling filled his stomach.

"Hello, Richard," Emmet's muffled voice managed to respond.

"Hello, Hyacinth," he said, his voice soft and sad.

"Hello, Richard!" she trilled as if she were calling him from the kitchen over a cup of coffee.

"I'm sorry, Richard," Emmet said, his voice choking.

"Don't be. At least I know she's in good company, Emmet," Richard said, his voice level, "I'd rather prefer it be you than the Major."

Emmet cringed. He felt bad for Richard and he felt guilty. Richard turned and left the bedroom and shutting the door firmly; he stomped back down the stairs and out the front door, slamming it behind him on the way out. Emmet flinched with each stomp and slam.

They heard the loud slam of the car door outside. Richard cranked the engine, gunning it. He squealed the tires as he sped out of the driveway; they heard the screech of tires and the sound of a car horn on the street in front of the house. Hyacinth smiled and laughed uncomfortably. Emmet winced.

He threw the covers off, "I can't do this anymore," he stormed.

"Oh, Emmet, he's fine," she said, wrapping her arms around him, trying to smooth things, "He's just upset that he forgot those papers for an important meeting. He hates to have to leave the office during the day; they rely on him for everything!"

"He didn't sound _fine_!" Emmet sat up, his head in his hands, his forehead furrowed, "Hyacinth, he's my friend. I cannot and will not betray that friendship any longer. This was a stupid idea!" Guilt washed over him.

"Emmet, Richard knows about us. He's resolved that it is going to be like this." She rested her hand on the middle of his back. She liked the sprinkling of freckles on his back and the soft curls on the back of his neck.

"He seemed angry, Hyacinth! He didn't seem resolved in his position as the blind husband."

"He's not blind," she countered, "He knows full well. Always has."

"Has he ever come home in the middle of one of your…_encounters_?" he said for lack of a more tactful word.

"Yes, once," she said, her face reddening, "I was entertaining in the lounge and lost track of time. It was after five and he walked in from work. He walked into the lounge and walked right back out again. He must have realized that he had left whatever he was looking for in the kitchen!" She chuckled and nodded, so unaware of how insensitive she sounded.

"What did he do?" Emmet asked.

"He put the kettle on and made us all tea!" she said happily.

Emmet's eyes went wide and he did a double-take, "I am not about to sit down to a tea party with Richard! Hell, I don't know if I can ever face him again!"

"And then afterwards he ordered us a new three-piece suite!" He could not believe she was so relaxed and calm talking about this. She said it so comfortably. Emmet could not help feeling pity for Richard; Richard should be sainted.

"He isn't going to have to order a new bed, is he?" Emmet asked.

"No, this is why I make sure to change the linens! You're really making too much of this. He admires and respects you, Emmet."

"Hyacinth," he said, his voice serious, "Do you even love your husband? I mean, do you love Richard?"

"Of course I love Richard. He's my husband. What a silly question, Emmet. Really!" she huffed.

"Then you need to put a stop to this. You are hurting him, Hyacinth," he urged, his dark eyes pleading.

"Oh, dear Emmet. I do wish you would just learn to relax a little. You're so uptight, dear," she said as if she hadn't heard him at all.

Emmet's mouth went suddenly dry.

"Seriously," he held her by the shoulders, "We have to stop. I can't continue to do this to my friend."

She squared her shoulders, maintaining her stiff upper lip, "Very well, Emmet. I shall miss our afternoons and our private coffee times. I did so look forward to a part in one of your amateur operatic society performances."

"I'll let myself out," he said sliding out of bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Goodbye, Emmet**

Hyacinth stood on her doorstep expectantly awaiting the arrival of the postman. He looked up the driveway, apprehensive, as he spotted her standing stoic like a sentry. He could feel his palms get clammy and he licked his suddenly-dry lips.

"Good morning, postman!" she trilled, her perfectly-coiffed auburn hair glinting in the morning sun.

He mustered up the courage to approach: back straight; stiff upper lip; head held high; steely gaze fixed. He marched right to the front door and thrust a handful of assorted envelopes at her. Elizabeth opened her door to await her mail and watched the scenario in front of Hyacinth's house unfold.

"Emmet! Come quick!" she whispered to her brother who sat in the front lounge sipping his morning tea.

Emmet silently scurried to his sister's side. They had a front-row view.

"Here!" the postman said curtly.

Hyacinth received the pile and riffled through it. She made a face as she felt the dampness from the postman's hands.

"_Wait!"_ she protested, "This one has second-class postage! I object to having second-class stamps thrust through my letterbox!"

"Then perhaps you shouldn't associate with second-class citizens!" he spouted, "Good day, Mrs. Bucket!"

"It's Bou-"she began to say, but he was well on his way; he didn't even bother to wait for her correction as he stalked toward Elizabeth and Emmet's. Hyacinth was left steaming.

Emmet and Elizabeth stood tittering as Hyacinth caught them standing there.

"Elizabeth! Emmet!" she beckoned, her mood shifting.

They straightened, faces devoid of joviality. The postman rounded the driveway and approached. Emmet ducked behind a pillar.

"Yes, Hyacinth?" Elizabeth called.

"Coffee at, say, nine twenty-five?" she chirruped.

"OK!" Elizabeth said, then winced, regretting her knee-jerk answer.

"Bring Emmet!" Hyacinth answered. Emmet grimaced.

"Nice try!" the postman quipped, "You almost got away with it!" He laughed.

Emmet narrowed his eyes, "Shut up or we'll bring you along!" he threatened.

The postman handed Elizabeth the mail and departed quickly. Emmet began laughing again from his hiding spot. Elizabeth handed Emmet an envelope containing first-class postage and an official-looking return address.

"Here, brother dear. This one's for you," she smiled.

Emmet gingerly ripped into the envelope. His eyes scanned the letter and then went wide. His face exploded into a wide, open-mouthed grin, "Brilliant!" he exclaimed.

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked, craning her neck to read.

"It's an acceptance letter from Reading School. They're want to hire me as a music professor!" he gushed.

Elizabeth hugged him tightly, "Well done, Emmet! Congratulations!" she beamed.

Emmet smiled proudly, "This is going to be a great opportunity!"

Suddenly, Elizabeth's smile faded, "Reading? You'll be leaving then?" Her shoulders slumped. She'd grown accustomed to having another adult in her home. She enjoyed the quiet times they shared together and having someone to eat meals with. Elizabeth missed her husband immensely; his work in Saudi Arabia kept him away from home for the past four years. Her daughter Gayle was away at university and, having completed her bachelor's degree, was accepted to her graduate's study program. Another four years minimum. Elizabeth sighed.

Emmet's smile fizzled as well.

"I'm afraid so, sis. Well, perhaps it's best with all what's gone one between her and me," he nodded toward Hyacinth's. His mouth formed a straight line and his forehead furrowed, eyebrows arched.

"If it didn't happen, would you still have gone? To Reading?" she asked, taking the letter from him.

He nodded, "Yes. It's time I'd moved on with my life. The work I do here is piecemeal. Church musicals. Tired, old plays. Playing piano for the old folks at the nursing home. What I really want to do is _teach_, Liz!" He held both of her hands in his.

"Then go and do what makes you happy!" she said, her smile returning wider than before. She knew that he wasn't truly happy living here; she had hoped he would have found someone to settle down with. Perhaps a fresh start in a new place was just what he needed.

He tightened his grip on her hands, leaning in to kiss her cheek, "I'll come visit every chance I get," he whispered against her face. She nodded.

"Well, we'd better get over to Hyacinth's; you know how she is about punctuality!" Elizabeth joked. Emmet chuckled and stashed the letter in the inside pocket of his jacket.

xXx

Emmet and Elizabeth stood on the brick front step of Hyacinth's detached home and removed their shoes.

"You know, she made me remove my shoes all those afternoons?" Emmet said as he sat down to untie his brown suede shoes.

"Really?" Elizabeth said, smiling incredulously, "I guess she doesn't play favorites!"

Emmet stood, smoothed his trousers, and pressed the doorbell. The whimsical electronic Westminster chime tolled.

"I shall not miss that!" Emmet sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Coming!" Hyacinth bellowed.

She cheerfully opened the door for her friends.

"Come in! Come in!" she welcomed them, giving Emmet a sideways glance as he passed her. He smiled uncomfortably, but Hyacinth strode to the kitchen unflapped.

"Sit down!" Hyacinth invited.

Emmet and Elizabeth took their seats as Hyacinth bopped over to the coffee maker to fill the carafe. She was in a good mood which made Emmet and Elizabeth cautious.

Hyacinth returned to the table carrying a tray of her fine Royal Doulton bone china cups and saucers with the hand-painted periwinkle design. Her pride and joy.

Elizabeth put her hand up to protest. The Royal Doulton with the hand-painted periwinkle design always made her exceedingly nervous.

"Hyacinth, I'm perfectly alright with a beaker!" she said, her voice cracking a little.

"Nonsense!" Hyacinth countered, "Nothing is too good for my company!" They both rolled their eyes.

She poured them each a cup of coffee, "Biscuit?" she asked offering the plate to them.

Emmet took a biscuit and set it on the edge of his saucer, "Thank you, Hyacinth." The air was thick with awkwardness and anticipation. Hyacinth subtly brushed the back of Emmet's hand. His breath hitched. Hyacinth sat down in the chair closest to the kitchen worktop and took her cup, added two sugarcubes and stirred.

Elizabeth broke the tension, "Emmet has some wonderful news, Hyacinth."

Hyacinth's head swiveled from Emmet to Elizabeth and back to Emmet, "Oh?"

Emmet took the letter from his inside jacket pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Hyacinth. She read it quickly, her lips forming the words on the page. Her lower lip quivered and her eyes went sad.

"Are you going to take the job, Emmet?" she choked.

He nodded, smiling nervously, "Yes, Hyacinth."

Her eyes locked on his and she looked as if she were about to cry. Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. Hyacinth inhaled slowly and her mouth split into her signature smile, "Congratulations, Emmet!" she bubbled and lay her hand on his arm, "You will be an excellent professor of music! My Sheridan has always had excellent professors at university!"

"Thank you, Hyacinth," Emmet said sincerely.

"I shall miss our having our threesome for coffee," she said softly. Elizabeth stifled a giggle as she saw Emmet's face blanch.

"I told Elizabeth that I shall visit every chance I get. So I will still be able to occasionally enjoy your delicious coffee!" he winked.

"We shall have to have a candle-light supper before you go. A sort of Going-Away Soiree! Something intimate, with only a few select people and lots of little things on sticks," she said brightly, waving her hand with a flourish, her eyes dancing.

"I shall look forward to it!" Emmet grinned, "You'll have to invite your sister Rose."

Hyacinth's eyes flew open and she gawped at him, "_Rose?"_

"Yes. Rose," he said, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

The telephone rang as if on cue. Hyacinth chuckled nervously, "I'd better answer that," she said springing to her feet, "It's probably someone very important!"

She fled the room and Emmet and Elizabeth stared at the closed door shaking their heads.

"Rose?" Elizabeth cocked her head and arched an eyebrow questioningly.

He shrugged and grinned mischievously, "Why not?"

From the foyer, they could hear Hyacinth trill merrily, "The Bouquet residence, lady of the house speaking!"

Emmet and Elizabeth tittered and drank their coffees breezily, calm now that Hyacinth was out of the room.

"Oh, it's you Violet!" she turned toward the door and poked her head into the kitchen, "It's me sister Violet; she's the one with the Mercedes, sauna, and room for a pony..." she trailed off. Emmet and Elizabeth mouthed the words as Hyacinth recited.

Elizabeth eyed her brother, "Rose?"

He pursed his lips in thought, "A little something to for the trip..."

Elizabeth shot him a mock-horrified look, "_Emmet!_ You're wicked!"

"Blame the older sister!" he said sing-song and stuck his tongue out at her.

Hyacinth fluffed a dust rag at the knick-knacks above her telephone station, "What do you mean Bruce has asked you to shave his body? What ever for?"

Violet had responded and Hyacinth's face contorted and her eyes blinked independently, as if her facial muscles had short-circuited.

Elizabeth walked to the foyer and Hyacinth, upon seeing Elizabeth, chuckled nervously, "Violet, I can't discuss Bruce's upcoming swimsuit model photo-shoot; I have company."

Pause as Violet protested to being dismissed.

"No, Violet, I'm pretty sure neither Elizabeth nor her brother Emmet would want to have a copy of Bruce's photo spread from the Lally and Willets catalog!" She hung the phone up abruptly.

"Hyacinth, Emmet and I have to go," Elizabeth explained. Emmet joined his sister in the hallway.

"Oh, yes, dear. Certainly. It has been a wonderful afternoon; thank you both for coming," she smiled, composing herself, "Richard will be disappointed in your leaving, Emmet. He is so fond of you."

Emmet's throat constricted as he recalled his last encounter with Hyacinth, "Give him my regards."

"Yes, dear!" she smiled.

Hyacinth walked her guests to the front door and they left.


End file.
